Friendship
by Elisabeth Harker
Summary: Laurie's grandfather is dead, and Jo is pregnant with her first child.  They each have their own lives and their own families to care for, but their bond remains as strong as ever.  Set after Good Wives but before Jo's Boys.


Notes: Emerald Zen requested a story in which Jo comfort's Laurie after the death of his grandfather. I've had the idea of wanting to write something about Laurie/Jo's continued friendship after their marriages to Amy and Bhaer for awhile, and the prompt seemed to work well with the concept. This is set post Little Women/Good Wives but pre Jo's Boys. The part about Laurie's Grandfather dying at that time is AU.

;-.-.-.;

There was a pile of dishes to be done, a dozen or so little socks to be mended, and washing to be hung up to dry. The students of Plumfield, a motley crew of five which Jo was immensely proud of, were wreaking havoc in their usual spirited fashion. Jo fancied that the little one in her stomach heard and wanted to join in, for he or she was kicking and turning summersaults within her. Usually these things would be enough to make Jo feel at peace, for she thrived on busyness, but today her mind was a mess with worry.

She was thinking of death, and she was thinking of Laurie, and how he had been the most stoic of all of them at his Grandfather's funereal three days ago. She had watched him throughout the entire day, for there had been something very young about his face, something fragile in his gaze that she had thought would need looking after. He had, she remembered, been the one to find the dear old man, who had been dead in his chair for lord only knew how many hours. He hadn't needed her at the funereal, and Jo knew that he did not need her now, for he had Amy and his infant Bess to look after him. That did not change the fact that she could not rest without seeing him, and so she pushed her sewing aside, whispered to Fritz to look after the children for a few hours, and set off for the Laurence manor

The sun was bright, and the wind whistled and sought to shake the autumn leaves down from the trees. Jo could smell the first hints of frost in the air. She would have to remind the children to dig up the crops from their little garden plots, lest the ground freeze over before they get the chance. She wondered if the cold would reach Mr. Laurence's body six feet under the Earth where it lay, and if it would slow down the inevitable decay. How long would it be before the worms ate away at his nose and his eyes, and his skin began to rot away? It was not a comforting thought, and it was made worse by knowing how alike she and Laurie were in their fancies and imaginations. It was enough to make her walk a little faster in spite of the pain in her back and ankles from the extra weight she was carrying.

Amy met her at the door, looking more frazzled than Jo was used to seeing her. She had Bess in one arm, who seemed to be getting on pretty well for the frail little thing that she was. At the moment she was quite occupied with chewing on her Mama's hair in a way that would have horrified the Amy of just a few years ago. There was a suspicious stain on Amy's apron as well, and she seemed to have done away all of her jewelry and trinkets for the time being, perhaps to keep them from prying hands and mouths.

"Don't laugh," said Amy, with a smile that Jo thought was quite lovely. "And for goodness sake, don't come too close just now. I was about to change her when you knocked."

"Do you need any help?" Jo asked, at which Amy laughed.

"No, I think I'll spare you today. You'll have your own in just a few months, dearest."

Bess's babbles were quickly turning into whines, and Amy broke from her conversation to make cooing noises at the infant. Jo took a few steps closer, finding that the smell of her really was something to be reckoned with, but that she didn't mind too terribly as she stopped to touch the wisp of golden hair that was just starting to grow.

"She really does take after you in every way," Jo said.

"Except for her nose. Thank goodness she inherited Laurie's and not mine."

"Saves on clothes pins, I suppose."

At this Jo stopped to touch the little nose before her, even as Amy's own nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I'm afraid that she really _must_ be attended to. Laurie's in his office. I suspect you've come to see him?"

At this Jo nodded, frowning slightly. "How has he been, these past days?"

"'Soldiering through', as you would put it," at this Amy sighed softly. "He's been terribly good, but I do wish he wouldn't try to be. Bess was ill again yesterday as well, and it left us both quite frightened. I don't know what we'll do if the poor darling persists in catching every cough and cold that crosses her path."

"The two of you take such care of her," Jo said, touching her own stomach absently. "I don't see how she can help but grow strong. It's just a matter of time, I hope."

"I hope so too," said Amy, in a tone which clearly betrayed her anxiety over the matter.

Bess let out another whimper, at which Amy spun around at once, saying, "Go see Laurie, and I'll be in to join the two of you once she is asleep. I must take good care of her, as you say, and standing here talking in a drafty hallway _isn't_ the way to do it."

With that, Jo turned and headed towards the shut door of Laurie's office.

;:;:;:

Laurie was penning over his ledgers and doing his very best not to let his mind wander. Keeping his eyes on the paper took effort just then, and it was not helped by the sound of the door being pushed open.

"I'll be finished in an hour or two," he said, writing a few more lines with clenched hand. God, but he hated this sea of numbers he was currently wallowing through.

"The boys will have destroyed the house in that time."

Laurie looked up to see Jo standing very pregnantly before him. He did not think that he could ever get used to the sight of her great swollen belly, but her face was as dear and honest as ever.

"I'm sorry," he said, with a sheepish smile. "Do you want to sit down?"

He glanced again at his ledger, feeling a pang of anxiety at the work he must abandon, even if he'd been wishing to see Jo for some days. She took the chair that he kept on the other side of his desk, for those occasions when he met with associates in his home, and dragged it over so that it was next to his. A moment later and he could feel Jo beside him, looking over his papers.

"What is it," He asked.

"Just wanted to see what's got you enthralled."

"It's _work_ Jo, and I'm supposed to be doing it."

Jo nodded. She did not leave his side, but watched quietly as he wrote a few more lines. This silence was a new war tactic of hers, as far as he could tell. They'd spent their childhoods each prying and teasing every secret out of the other, and now she thought that he was so used to sharing with her whatever was on his mind that all she had to do was lie in wait. The worst of it was that she was right.

"I despise these," he said finally, pushing the papers away from them. "And I think everyone but you has forgotten that I ever did."

"You do seem to have taken to them better than anyone expected."

He gave a bitter laugh at it. "Not so. Just five days ago Grandpa was warning me not to be careless with my work."

The significance of this statement was not lost on Jo, who placed her hand on his shoulder, and leaned in closer.

"Why yes, that was the last conversation we had, and it _was_ an argument. Thanks for asking," Laurie said. He knew that he sounded angry, but it was only to mask the waver in his voice, and he clenched his jaw tightly to keep from saying any more afterwards.

"I'm sorry," Jo said.

"So am I. It's not how I wanted to leave things off between us."

He felt her brush her hand against his neck, and then through his hair, and he bent over his desk, letting her minister to him as she would for once.

"I've thought that the dead still look down on us for the longest time," she started softly. "Ever since…"

"Beth."

"Yes. She never has felt that terribly far away, and I don't think that he is either. We're horribly flawed, all of us, but surely heaven washes that away and he can understand now."

"When did you start spouting metaphysics?" He said with just a hint of a smile, for this speech of hers was miles away from the jokes they usually shared.

"German children's stories," she explained. "I hear so many of them these days, and they're all about little shepherds who go to heaven and make all kinds of droll discoveries. It sounds like quite the adventure actually, and it _is_ a nice thought."

"Have you any other nice thoughts for me?"

"Let's make a deal. I'll trade you all of my best, if you let me in on your worst."

"They aren't so bad, actually. They just seem that way now." Laurie tried to laugh, but found instead that he had to take a deep breath and shut his eyes against a surge of emotion that he was too much a man to freely allow.

Jo's arms went around him, a bit awkwardly for all of the extra bulk she was carrying, but he appreciated it all the same.

"Lord Jo," he said, once he'd regained himself. "Things change so quickly. Grandpa is gone, I'm a father and a business man, and you're about to have a child. Don't you ever wish things could go back just a few years?"

"For a day or two, yes. It _would_ be nice to skate and fly kites again, and to see those who have left us one last time…"

"Our younger selves would be horrified to see us now. Not a castle in the air in sight."

"Perhaps not, but maybe it's better to have our feet firmly planted on the ground," She touched her stomach. "I want this. So much. And you have Bess and Amy to adore you."

"I adore them," he said.

"I don't think you should let yourself get bogged down in the work," She whispered, after some time. She had that confidential tone she sometimes used with him, when she was saying something that she believed strongly, but which was at odds with her stern morals. "Do what you must, but there's no reason for you to be a slave to numbers."

"You have no idea how long I've wanted somebody to tell me that."

Jo had still not released him from her embrace entirely, and now she lay her head on his shoulder. Something in him loosened at that, for the ease that existed between the two of them was more comforting than the most eloquent words.

"Our children will play together," Jo promised. "And we'll take them to do all of the things we used to do, and tell them stories about the time your Grandfather gave Beth the piano, and never, ever forget a thing."

"Bess won't remember him," Laurie said. It was a sudden thought, and a terrible one. It detracted terribly from the comfortable future which Jo was trying to spin, but she would forgive him.

"Oh Teddy…"

Laurie found Jo's hand, and grasped it in his own.

They sat that way for some time, and though it was not enough to make Laurie forget his troubles, he thought it would at least help him bear them.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, once the silence had stretched out for too long.

"You'll think it strange."

"The stranger the better. Is it about your baby?"

"No," She said, lifting her head from his shoulder. "It probably ought to be, but it isn't. I was thinking about my publishers, actually."

"Do you have publishers these days? I thought you'd given that up to follow in your mother's illustrious footsteps."

"Doesn't stop me from remembering how ridiculous they can be. Did you know that I once had a story rejected because the publisher claimed that friendships between men and women are not interesting, or even possible without romantic entanglements?"

"Oh indeed?"

"And I can't go about saying that we've disproved him…"

"I seem to remember things getting pretty entangled for a time. My own fault rather than yours, but still…"

"Never mind that," Jo said, with a smile. "No entanglements to speak of now, and I think the publisher was missing something important by discounting friendships such as ours."

"This," he replied, touching Jo's stomach, "Is what's put you in such an affectionate mood."

"I won't argue there, but seeing how quickly things can change and fall away has played a role in it as well."

"It's good that some things don't."

"I promise you," said Jo, "that some things never will."


End file.
